Not quite Chopin
by pfirsichkind
Summary: The marriage, their separation, the silence, the unfamiliarity, their ups, their downs, their loss. Their reunion.  Prussia x Hungary


**Title**: Not quite Chopin

**Characters**: Prussia/Hungary, mention of Austria

**Rating**: T

**Warning**: Depressing moments of silence. Angst. Also, fluffy scene at the end. Had to be.

**Summary**: The marriage, their separation, the silence, the unfamiliarity, their ups, their downs, their loss. Their reunion.

He thought she was pale. The white lace that clung to her body like her dresses had used to, merged completely into her dry skin, taut over her shoulders. Her lips, pressed to a thin line, her chapped lips were covered by luscious red lipstick. An odd spot within the tired shapes of her face. Her eyes laid steadily on his reflection in the mirror. He thought she looked lost.

"What do you want."

It was a statement not a question. He knew why he was here, just as he knew she knew. So he remained silent.

She nervously pulled at the veil, which fell over her shoulders like a limp sack. Her maid tried to tug it back, but she hissed at her to keep her filthy fingers off and sent her away with that thin voice. She looked back at her image in the mirror, but he caught the disapproving look of the maid walking away briskly.

The sun could barely reach through the heavy curtains, but he saw the dust swirling around the room, while she frantically ran from one corner to another. At every turn a curl slipped out of her upswept hair and at every turn, she wiped it away, cursing quietly.

It was the twenty-fifth turn when he stood up, held her by her wrists and took one of the hairpins. He gently pushed the thin piece of metal into her hair, pinning down the strand. He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his uniform and wiped the red off the lips, moistened the cloth with his tongue to make sure that every last bit of false red color disappeared. He could see in her eyes that she remembered how she had used to wipe the dirt from his face in the same way.

* * *

><p>He did not know why he was here and he could see that she too was surprised. Her hands gripped her apron tighter, then she turned and walked down the corridor. He accepted the unspoken invitation and followed her, intent on not leaving a sound with the heels of his boots. When they entered a large hall, he could perceive the melodic sound of a piano. She walked faster.<p>

He entered the kitchen, where no Chopin could reach them. Instead, he heard the dull rumbling of boiling soup and smelled the spicy, familiar scent of goulash. She brought him a cup of tea, lukewarm. The service rattled in her hands, and he took it from her quickly, before it landed on the floor.

She was standing beside the stove, looked at the soot surface and made sure her apron stayed free of any stains. He drank his tea. When only the sediment remained, he stood up. She made no effort to look at him. He turned and found his way back to the heavy wooden door through which she had let him in. When he had almost reached the forests of the large garden, he stilled his horse. Far away he saw a shadow behind the curtains of the hall, through which she had led him.

* * *

><p>Intrigued, he followed the movements of her body, muscles moving below the bright whiteness of her slim uniform, her delicate hands grabbing the sword tighter, the sweat on her face, the sun-kissed skin, this time not hidden by pale makeup. The torn lips, the blood that stained them, her damp hair, stuck to her forehead. Her powerful voice echoed over the plains of Silesia.<p>

Her eyes sparkling with pride, anger, fear and thirst.

* * *

><p>He followed her through the same hall. This time it was her heels, leaving a loud clattering noise. He stopped in the middle of the light-flooded room to watch her dance, eyes closed. The worry lines still on her forehead and her skin ash gray. But her hair glistened in the sunlight and he could hear her softly humming Chopin.<p>

She stopped in front of a large window and he wondered if she had stood right there when he had disappeared into the forests of Schönbrunn. Her shadow looked thinner than it had in the wide dress she used to wear. Instead, a gray ladies' suit hid her thin shoulders, her hungry ribs.

She turned and came over to him, eyes fixed on the ground, as if ashamed of her loud steps. He stayed where he was, unmoving, his hands buried in his pockets. For a while they stood facing each other silently, then she leaned her head on his chest. He lowered his head, his nose buried in her shoulder and he closed his eyes painfully, when he recognized the moldy smell of Ivan's wardrobe.

When he saw her again the next time, her blond curls were framing her round face. Her cheeks were flushed and he blamed it on the alcohol when his gaze lingered a little too long on her cleavage. The green dirndl reminded him of her old dress and her sparkling eyes told him that the similarity was intentional. She took the Maß from his hands and pulled him onto the dance floor. They jumped around with the crowd, clapping on their thighs until his palms were burning and sweat was pouring down his back. She pulled him aside, out of the tent and soon after he pinned her against the back wall of a wooden stall. His hands slid under her dirndl, while she hastily pulled on his suspenders. He gave her no time to unbutton his shirt, instead grabbed her hips and lifted her up. She sighed loudly and threw her head back.

* * *

><p>Laughing softly they ran into the protecting shades of the near forest and now his head was resting on her chest, listening to her rapidly beating heart. He kissed the cold sweat away.<p>

She laughed.

He looked confused and she went on, shaking her head while outstretched fingers combed through his hair.

"Not quite Chopin," she said with a smile.

He grinned broadly.

"No, not quite Chopin. "

- fin

* * *

><p>Goulash is a popular dish from Hungary. It's really tasty.<p>

Chopin is, as we all know, a Polish composer and often mentioned by Austria in the series.

Hungary fought in the War of Austrian Succession, alongside with Austria.

Schönbrunn is the former imperial summer residence in Vienna.

The comment on Ivan's wardrobe refers to their time together in the Soviet Union. This scene is located a few weeks after the German reunion.

A Maß is a liter of beer. This scene is located at the Oktoberfest. The Bavarian dance "Schuhplattler" includes clapping of hands, heels and clapping on thighs.


End file.
